Fallen Angels (23 page)

“You could do that?”

“If it makes him a better man, damn right I can and will.”

“No, I won’t let him go hungry. He’s stubborn like you, and he’ll never agree to your terms. It’s his life. Let him live it his way.”

Now Josie pushed her plate away. She’d lost her appetite. She couldn’t do this alone.

“Great, and if he never gets a break we can go visit him on some street corner and drop dollars in his hat while he plays,” she said, sarcastically.

Jake laughed and held up both hands when she glowered at him. “Sorry,” he said, trying to suppress a smile. “You don’t see many street musicians playing the piano. The picture of his baby grand on the sidewalk at Sunset and Vine just struck me funny.”

“I’m glad you think it’s humorous. We’ll see if you’re still laughing when he’s forty, hungry and playing for quarters in some downtown L.A. dive.”

He stood and started to say something, but stopped himself and finally said, softly, “You can’t run our kid’s life like you run your police station. Not everything can be controlled and made to work the way you think it should.”

“Why not?”

“Because life’s messy. Let him get his hands dirty. He can fail . . . he will fail sometimes, but David’s a smart guy. We brought him up to give a hundred percent to whatever he does. It might not be what you’d like him to do, but as long as he’s happy, leave him alone, Josie.”

Jake reached over and gently touched her cheek for a moment. His skin was warm and soft. The gesture surprised her and she was silent as he picked up his briefcase.

“I know you won’t believe this,” he said, stopping near the kitchen door, “but I never meant to hurt you. I’m trying to slay my demons the only way I know how. You might be done with me, but I’ll never stop loving you.”

The door closed and he was gone. Josie sat there staring at the empty space where he’d stood and said he loved her. Why’s he talking about demons? What demons? she thought, rubbing the back of her neck. Tension was building in her shoulders again. Now, she wasn’t just worried about David but about Jake, too. She wasn’t angry with him any longer, or maybe she was. Her feelings were confused . . . anger, love, disappointment, all mashed together giving her a stabbing pain above her eyes.

She’d gotten out of bed that morning confident and cocky, sure about everything; she knew exactly what she wanted and how to get it. Fifteen minutes with Jake had ruined her day, sending her to the medicine cabinet for aspirin and a penetrating look into the mirror trying to rediscover the self-reliance that had vanished with what she was certain was a contrived loving touch.

TWELVE

D
eputy Chief Bright was waiting in Josie’s office when she arrived. He was standing with his back to the door staring at an old picture of her in uniform posing with six other officers who had worked a special robbery suppression team. The picture had been taken the day they received an honorary citation for their efforts in stopping street robberies.

“Didn’t you shoot some guy when you worked this robbery thing?” Bright asked as soon as he realized she was in the room.

“Yes,” she said, curtly. It wasn’t something she wanted to discuss with him.

“What actually happened?” he asked, still staring at the picture. “I don’t think I ever heard the whole story.”

“Not much to tell. He attacked one of our decoy cops. I shot him.”

Actually, she did remember the incident all too well. The decoy was Maria Solis, a two-year cop. She was barely five feet tall, but all heart and as tough as they came, man or woman. The robber stabbed Maria with a switchblade as he tore the purse strap off her shoulder. Josie was the supervisor as well as one of the covering officers and was hidden a few yards away. She fired two quick rounds killing the robber before he’d run ten feet from the injured officer. Maria lived, but had several surgeries and never worked the streets again. The robbery team was disbanded after that incident, but Josie received a lot of accolades for her quick response. She, however, saw it as a failure because it had been her job to keep Maria safe. She didn’t tell Bright any of that because he hadn’t spent much time on the street and wouldn’t really understand.

“I remember that unit . . . good results, dangerous way to do business,” Bright said, turning away from the photo. “How’d the interview with Eli Goldman go?”

“Pretty good. Sergeant Perry should’ve been given a copy.”

“Yeah, I saw that. What’d you think?”

“About what?” Josie asked. She really didn’t want to elaborate with personal insights or conclusions since everything she said to Bright would probably be shared with Goldman.

“Don’t be coy with me, Captain. Did you believe him, or did you think he was lying about his relationship with that girl?”

“Truthfully, I don’t know,” Josie said. “He denies anything except fatherly concern for Cory as his motivation for being anywhere near Hillary, and we can’t prove otherwise.”

“What about the retired cop Bruno Faldi? Didn’t he say Eli had a relationship with that girl?”

“Yes sir, but then he’s not the most reliable source. We’ve got reason to believe he’s related to Vince Milano.”

Bright slumped onto Josie’s couch. “What a mess,” he said. “It would be so much easier if I gave this back to RHD. I know Fletcher wants your people to handle it, but it’s getting really complicated. Maybe it’s too much for you and your detectives.”

“I’ll let you know if we need the bureau’s help,” Josie said, trying to sound professional but irked at the suggestion she and her detectives weren’t as good as or better than anyone in the city. “Maybe we can use extra resources at some point, but for now I think we’ve pretty much got it under control.”

She felt nervous sweat on her hands. She hadn’t told him about the off-duty jobs or the possibility one or more officers might’ve been involved with Hillary. She hadn’t told him a lot and realized that although they’d made progress, Bright wasn’t aware of it because she couldn’t trust him.

Josie had to keep the investigation for a lot of reasons but primarily because she knew Behan would do it right regardless of the outcome. If it went to RHD, she feared the case would die a slow bureaucratic death. There were too many high-profile people on the periphery of these murders that might be happier if the investigation was tucked away forever in a cold case file. In those moments when she was completely honest with herself, Josie worried she might be one of them. David’s proximity to the victims was troublesome, but Josie knew her son wasn’t a killer, and she wasn’t going to allow anyone to try to prove otherwise.

“I’m concerned you’re not making much progress,” he said. “I’m not comfortable everything’s being done.”

“Why’s that?” Josie asked, not trying to hide her annoyance. She was making progress and if he could keep his mouth shut he’d know about it.

“Have you got a suspect?”

“We’re working on it.”

“Nobody said you’re not working hard, but it’s been several days. You’ve got to get control of this thing. Two women had their brains blown out . . . one of them practically a child. The public wants somebody held accountable,” he said, rubbing his forehead with both hands. “That Dennis girl’s mother keeps writing letters to the Police Commission and the mayor. If it weren’t for Fletcher’s interference, I’m certain I could get the chief of police to dump this whole thing on RHD.”

Josie was still upset with Fletcher for her refusal to close the needle exchange, but felt pangs of gratitude that the stubborn woman was insisting Josie’s detectives handle Hillary’s homicide. Now that Fricke was making arrests around the exchange, she was nervous the councilwoman might retaliate and allow RHD to take it.

“Behan’s a good detective. If this thing can be solved, he’ll figure it out,” she said.

“Just make certain Ibarra keeps me in the loop . . . and let me know before you do anything that involves Goldman or his son.” He repeated that familiar refrain on his way out the door—shoulders back, chin up, showing everybody he was still in charge. Sergeant Jones stood in Josie’s doorway and watched until the deputy chief was out of sight before entering.

“That I.A. sergeant sent 1.28 face sheets with misconduct complaints on Donnie Fricke and Frank Butler,” the adjutant said, placing two sheets of paper on her desk. “Should be pretty simple . . . anonymous informant . . . nothing else.”

“You do it,” Josie said, pushing the papers back toward him.

“Shouldn’t this be in Lieutenant Bailey’s shop?” he asked. Josie sat back and stared at him, and he snatched the papers off her desk. “Yes, ma’am.”

Before he could get out the door, she asked, “Is Ibarra back from vacation?”

“Yes, ma’am, but he called in sick this morning,” he said and immediately slapped his forehead. “I forgot to tell you Lieutenant Owens pulled the pin this morning.”

“Owens retired?”

“Cleaned out his locker while you were talking to the chief.”

“Bright didn’t mention it, so he probably hasn’t been told. Does Behan know?”

“I can ask.”

“Never mind, I’m going back to detectives.”

Marge Bailey was coming downstairs from the vice office and called to Josie before she reached the detective squad room.

“Captain, can you come up when you get a chance?” she asked.

Josie waved at her and said she’d be there in a few minutes.

Josie figured she and Behan had either scared Owens into retiring, or he was so pissed-off after the interview he’d decided not to come back to work again. Either way was fine with her. She was happy to be rid of the dead weight, and his departure didn’t protect him from the investigation. With any luck, Ibarra would do the same thing.

“I heard,” Behan said as Josie approached his desk, “police work must’ve interfered with Owens’s real job,” he added.

“What was his real job, ripping off the city?”

“He had a pretty good scam while it lasted. The city pays his salary while he works every night for Buck and the studios . . . takes double-dipping to a whole new level.”

“Asshole was stealing,” Josie said, and saw a few of the detectives’ heads turn slightly while pretending they weren’t listening. She realized she shouldn’t be talking about any of this in front of them. For a moment, the anger had clouded her judgment because she knew the corruption tainted all of them.

“What did Chief Bright want?” Behan asked, almost whispering.

“Curious about Eli Goldman’s interview,” she said, sitting closer to him with her back to the other detectives.

“Like he didn’t know. . . . How much you wanna bet Goldman was on the phone to Bright before he got out of our lobby.”

“You’re probably right. Bright didn’t seem as interested in the interview as he was in knowing what I thought about Goldman’s credibility.”

“What’d you tell him?”

“That I wasn’t sure.”

Behan nodded. “Good answer,” he said and glanced around the room before adding, “let’s go back to your office where we can talk.”

“Come with me up to vice. We’ll talk there,” she said, and Behan grimaced. “Something Marge can’t hear?”

“No, of course not, it’s fine,” he said, unconvincingly.

“I don’t understand. Why’s it so difficult for you two to work together?”

“We’re trying, but we’re different,” he said, getting up.

Josie wanted to blurt out that she thought they were so much alike it was scary. Marge was a pretty, foulmouthed, female version of Behan. They both were intense and focused and had given up any semblance of a normal life to work too many hours at a job they both appeared to love more than food or sex. Josie kept her thoughts to herself. Having managed people for so many years, she knew there was more going on than they were willing to admit, but she was confident when the time was right they’d tell her . . . probably more than she wanted to know. As long as it didn’t affect their work, for now anyway, the mystery could remain their business.

As usual, the vice office was empty except for Marge. She didn’t allow her officers to hang around the station and kept them on the street making arrests or patrolling. She was sifting through a stack of arrest reports, and the big smile that flashed across her face when she looked up and saw Josie faded as soon as she noticed Behan.